A Shadowy Game
by RumpelstiltskinDearie
Summary: Yes, you very well do have a lot of bloody explaining to do! You fell off the edge of a building, hundreds of feet in the air, and no one ever found your body or Moriarty's! And yet, here you are!


**Author's Note: **Okay, so this is a one-shot (and I hope to keep it that way and not write another chapter...or two...or three...) about what happened after the end of "Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows". I was kind of disappointed with the ending; at first I thought Sherlock was dead. Then he 'came back to life', and I was happy for a second before thinking, _Well, heck, now why didn't he let Watson know he was alive? And how the heck did he survive that fall?  
_Well, this is my version of how he survived and what happens with the reunion. Please forgive me if the survival version doesn't live up to your expectations or is too far-fetched; I really have no idea how he would survive that fall, so what I come up with will probably be really far-fetched.  
Also, don't flame me if this was already resolved in the Sherlock Holmes books; I haven't finished reading them all yet.  
Enjoy! Leave reviews, please? _Hannon le_!

-X-X-X-

**We are like birds of a feather,  
We are two hearts joined together,  
We will be forever as one,  
My brother under the sun.**

_Bryan Adams ("Spirit" soundtrack) - "Brothers Under The Sun"_

-X-X-X-

Watson was sitting at his typewriter. It was a bright, sunny day, but it was lost on him. Even after two years, losing his best friend still hurt. It hurt a lot.

Every time he settled down to work on his memoirs, he was thrown into a dark depression. On his most memorable adventures, he had always-_always_-had his friend, Sherlock Holmes, by his side.

Of course, nearly all of his most memorable adventures had been forced upon him by Holmes in the first place.

Despite his sorrow, a small smile flickered across Watson's face. _Oh, what fun we had..._

"John! John, there's someone here to see you!" Mary's voice called from downstairs.

Watson glanced up, jolted abruptly out of his nostalgia. "Send them in, Mary."

A few minutes later, someone walked into the room, shutting the door behind them.

Watson scrutinized the newcomer. It was a man, that much was certain. He wore a dark coat, and similarly-colored trousers. His hair was red, and he wore glasses.

At first glance, Watson decided he didn't know the man. But then he caught a glimpse of the man's eyes.

_No... there really is something familiar about this man... _Watson thought to himself, frowning and picking up his teacup to take a sip of tea. He just couldn't place it, but he had seen this person before.

"Excuse me, sir," the man said with a Scottish accent. "Could you-"

Upon hearing the voice of the stranger, Watson choked on his tea. He quickly put the teacup down and stumbled back.

"No, it can't be," he gasped. "You're supposed to be dead!"

The stranger was silent, staring at him for a second. Then he heaved a sigh and took off his hair-which was, in fact, a wig. Off came the glasses as well.

Leaving a dark-haired, bright-eyed, casually-clad man in place. A man Watson knew only too well.

"It can't be!"

"Yes, well, it is, my dear Watson," Holmes said. He shifted from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. "I-I can explain."

At first, Watson wanted to exclaim, _Explain what? You're alive, you're not dead, that's all that matters! _But then he thought he should say, _Yes, you very well do have a lot of bloody explaining to do! You fell off the edge of a building, hundreds of feet in the air, and no one ever found your body or Moriarty's! And yet, here you are!_

In the end, he simply said, "Please do."

"Well... as you likely know, I was fighting with Moriarty when-" Holmes began.

"Yes, you were fighting with Moriarty, and when you saw me, you threw yourself over the edge of the balcony, taking him along with you!" Watson burst out, finally finding his voice. "Why, Holmes? You could have died! You _should _have; there's no logical explanation! So how are you still alive?"

"Do I detect a hint of bitterness in your voice at the fact that I did not die?" Holmes asked, crossing his arms and sitting down in a chair.

"No, of course not! What I'm asking is, why did you jump off the balcony, and what happened after that?" Watson, in turn, sat down in his own chair, watching Holmes from over his typewriter.

"Well, I shall explain." Holmes leaned back, steepling his fingers under his nose. "First of all, the reason for my throwing myself off the balcony."

Watson leaned forward, just as Holmes leaned back. He wanted to hear every word his friend said.

"A few minutes before you arrived, Moriarty had..." Holmes hesitated. "He threatened to bring death upon you, and your dear Mary. To exact revenge for you foiling his plan to assassinate one of the ambassadors."

Watson drew in a sharp intake of breath at this; he had known, of course, that Moriarty would no doubt be angry, but the mere thought of a threat against Mary frightened him terribly.

"After he finished telling me of his grand plan to get rid of you and your dearly beloved, we got into a bit of a fray," Holmes continued. "Neither of us had the upper hand; we are, unfortunately, equally matched.

"When you arrived, I...well, I knew that if Moriarty did manage to overpower me, then he would be left on the balcony with you, and you would have to face him alone. And, despite how skilled you are in combat, that would be deadly. And so I took the only path I could see to keep you safe-I threw myself off the balcony, and dragged him with me."

Watson felt moved almost to tears. Of course, he had known that he and Holmes had a special bond; brothers, as a gypsy on the streets had once told them. But neither of them had ever voiced in words how much they cared for each other.

The simple thought that Holmes had, in all actuality, been willing to give his own life for Watson's dumbfounded him.

"But-but how did you survive?" asked Watson, thoroughly fascinated.

"Ah, yes. Well, we kept falling. At some point, we hit the water. Quite hard, really. It knocked the breath out of me for several seconds, and I was submerged underwater." Holmes leaned forward again and rested his elbows on his knees, fingers still steepled under his nose.

"And how were you not dragged so far under that you lost oxygen?" Watson inquired.

"I was able to breathe, my dear Watson."

"Holmes, even for you, that is virtually impossible."

"Oh, no, not like that. I meant with this." Holmes showed Watson a small, red and silver device. "You remember this, don't you? It was in Mycroft's house. His 'personal supply of oxygen'."

Realization dawned on Watson and he nodded slowly.

"Fortunately for me, I decided to take that with me. I thought it might come in handy on our little adventure in Switzerland. I apparently thought correctly," Holmes said. "I managed to pull it out of my waistcoat pocket while I was underwater. If I put it up to my mouth and nose, it enabled me to breath until I could find my way up to the surface."

"You couldn't have fallen that far without being injured, though," Watson said.

"Indeed not. I had extremely painful bruises all over my body, as well as a few fractured ribs," Holmes answered. "Nothing too life-threatening, I'm sure you'd agree, doctor."

"One more question. Why did you wait two years to let me know you were still alive?"

"I wanted to make sure that our Moriarty was truly gone," Holmes explained. "I didn't want to risk him finding you. Fortunately, I believe the professor will never show his face anywhere in Europe again. I hope you're not too angry with me."

Watson laughed. It was a giddy laugh, one of disbelief and relief. "No, no, of course not." Then Watson laughed. It was a giddy laugh, one born of his incredulity of the whole situation and relief that he had his friend back. "Oh, I never thought I would ever be so happy to see you, Holmes!"

Holmes smiled, that same enigmatic and supercilious smile that nearly always graced his face. "Nor did I ever think I would be so happy to see you, good doctor." Then, in a hushed voice, he added, "I do hope you've forgiven me for throwing your bride off the train two years ago, Watson. I did tell you I had it perfectly timed."

Watson stared at him for a minute, and then burst out laughing again. After a moment, Holmes joined in.

The legendary duo had been reunited.

-X-X-X-

**Author's Note: **I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)


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